Page 24 of Whiskey Kisses

Cocking his head, he lets his gaze meander lazily over my work clothes: a sleeveless white linen shirt tucked into tan, wide leg trousers. “I mean …”

The deliciously predatory intent in those eyes, joking or not, sends my heart slamming to my feet. “Oh, no. No. You won’t be”—I drop my voice to a whisper—“fucking me, either, so you’d better get used to your hand!”

“My hand and I are well acquainted, thank you very much,” he says with a saucy grin. “And never say never. This is one situation where being friends with benefits is more than acceptable.”

“Tristan,” I groan.

“Come on.” He chuckles, lacing his fingers through mine. “No more procrastinating. We’re gonna be late.”

Finn,Malachi, and Timmy fly in from Boston later that afternoon. Tristan says he needs his friends as witnesses for tomorrow’s “ceremony,” but I’m not stupid. The four of them converse in riddles and inside jokes over dinner, sometimes stepping away altogether to “have a smoke” outside. It’s obvious there’s more going on, and I suspect it has to do with the Kellys’ takeover of my family’s distillery.

Or maybe Tristan realizes, rightly, that once Daddy and the Deschamps catch wind of this marriage, there’s going to be trouble. Still, his friends are nice to me, and if they think we’re nuts for going through with this, they don’t show it.

Once Tristan drops me back to my place, I call Opal. She’s been pretty worried about me lately, and she’s not going to like what I’m about to tell her.

“Hey honey,” she answers, sounding distracted. “Sorry, I’m driving. Junior has a fever, so I ran to the store to get Tylenol.” Junior is her cousin’s four-year-old. His mom works crazy hours, so he spends a lot of time at their place.

“Oh, no. I hope he’s okay,” I say, thinking of the mischievous little boy’s adorable, chubby cheeks.

“He’ll be fine.” Opal curses at someone’s bad driving, kissing her teeth. “So, what’s up? You and Tristan left like y’all’s asses were on fire last night. He gonna help you or what?”

“Yes, actually. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Thank God,” she says, exhaling so loudly that the line crackles. “After you told me about that fight the other night, I knew a guy like him would be the one to take care of business.”

I force a weak laugh. “Yeah.”

“He’s cute, too. Really cute,” she continues. “I get why you’ve been lusting for him your whole life.”

“Opal, we’re getting married,” I blurt, bracing for impact.

“What?”

“We’re getting?—”

“I heard you, Evelyn. Are you out of your damn mind?” she asks quietly.

“It might seem that way, but no.” I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Smudged mascara, circles under my eyes. Do I have any gray hairs yet? I must, after a week like this. “It’s just for a year. Tristan and I have discussed this?—”

“I’m sure you have.”

“—and I have thought it through. Like, a lot, Opal. You know I’m in deep shit with Daddy. He’s not gonna let me go. This is the only way,” I plead, wanting desperately for her to understand.

“Butmarryingsomebody?” she says. “Why can’t you just skip town? I have family in Augusta. Maybe …”

“Because he will track me down, just like he tracked Mama down.”

Daddy had always cheated on Mama and was an emotionally abusive asshole to boot. She’d left a few times but always came back because he wouldn’t let her take us. I guess he knew she wouldn’t go too far if he had her girls. After a huge fight one Christmas, she left again. When Mama didn’t come home after a couple of weeks, he found her at Aunt Myrtle’s and told her he'd make sure she never saw us again if she didn’t come home. She went back to him that night.

But she was gone again within the year. I’d always felt kind ofabandoned by her, even though I knew, deep down, why she’d had to go. Daddy was openly seeing someone else by that point, someone with even more money than Mama, so he finally let her go. I’m old enough now to know that while she married him for love, he married her because she came from a wealthy family. It was strategic, just like forcing me to marry a Deschamps.

It doesn’t escape me that Tristan is marrying me for similar reasons. The difference is, it’s strategic for the both of us. He’s marrying me for the distillery. I’m marrying him to protect my inheritance and to save my own ass in one fell swoop.

Not for love.

“Okay, well, when are you guys doing this?” asks Opal.

“Tomorrow, at Ivy & Rose.”

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